


there's not a bone in my body (that's not weak for you)

by Yikessam



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, PTSD mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 20:33:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yikessam/pseuds/Yikessam
Summary: It was a lot of pictures, Brian and Michael in high school, Gus, Lindsay in college, her hair longer, face thinner, smile brighter. Pictures of him, doodling on the floor in front of the couch at the Loft, him in navy blue sit that Brian insisted on buying for his first solo art show, them, at the diner, at Woody’s, their first year in New York, at the prom.At the prom.Justin's smile is big, bright, full of the sunshine they all claimed exuded from it. Brian, tall, and devastatingly handsome in that all black tux, the white scarf still wrapped around his neck, his arm over Justin's shoulder.  He grins now, the same smile, and holds the photo to his chest for a moment, and that’s when he sees it. Still coated in dark, dried blood.  His blood. The picture falls, forgotten, from his hand so he can reach for the silk scarf that he hasn’t seen in years. Not since he pushed it off of Brian's shoulders.





	there's not a bone in my body (that's not weak for you)

There was something about packing up and then unpacking your entire life. Justin had done it too many times to count over the past few years, and it always made him realize just how much he came to acquire. He had been delegated to narrowing down what they had. Daphne had told them both about an article in Cosmo about minimalism, and now that they were getting settled into the new place, **finally** , they both decided now was the time to try it out.

So far a lot of his own things were going into either a pile for donation, or to throw away. An old discman, some shoes he hadn’t worn since he was at PIFA, odds and ends from a life, a boy he barely recognized.

The next box was one of Brian’s, and he always felt sort of weird going through his things without him being around. Over the years Brian had shared more and more, had showed him a part of his life he thought maybe even Michael hadn’t been privy to. There was still this feeling of crossing boundaries though. He went in anyway, they were partners, stronger than ever, and a silly little box wasn’t the obstacle it would’ve been, back then.

It was a lot of pictures, Brian and Michael in high school, Gus, Lindsay in college, her hair longer, face thinner, smile brighter. Pictures of him, doodling on the floor in front of the couch at the Loft, him in navy blue sit that Brian insisted on buying for his first solo art show, them, at the diner, at Woody’s, their first year in New York, at the prom.

At the prom.

Justin's smile is big, bright, full of the sunshine they all claimed exuded from it. Brian, tall, and devastatingly handsome in that all black tux, the white scarf still wrapped around his neck, his arm over Justin's shoulder. He grins now, the same smile, and holds the photo to his chest for a moment, and that’s when he sees it. Still coated in dark, dried blood. His blood. The picture falls, forgotten, from his hand so he can reach for the silk scarf that he hasn’t seen in years. Not since he pushed it off of Brian's shoulders and suddenly he’s hit with a wave of everything. Nausea, the feeling sitting like a weight in his stomach. Panic, his heart racing, pounding against his ribcage. The recollection hitting him quickly, Brian spinning him around the dance floor, a smile, and the sudden blackness.

The prom started slowly coming back to him, in pieces, a few years ago. The song had come on in a grocery store, it resulted in a panic attack, him puking on the curb outside and Brian's soothing hand running down his spine. But then the flashes of memories, the lights, not unlike the ones in Babylon but not as intense either, that shone on them as they moved around the dance floor. He remembered faces in the crowd next, some in fascination, Daphne’s in pure delight, others, it clicks, now, were in disgust.

It’s always blackness after the flash of Brian’s smile. He thinks maybe that’s for the best. The nightmares without that particular memory are horrible, he doesn’t want to imagine what they’re like when, if, it comes back.  
He closes the box, puts it in the closet, and waits for Brian to come home.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

 

When he comes home everything is normal. He’s cooking when Brian walks in, drops his briefcase on the table next to the front door, removes his shoes, pads into the kitchen. He feels him before he sees him, arms wrapped around him from behind while he chops carrots, face buried into his neck, he’s breathing him in and Justin can’t stop the still shy smile.

Justin misses the heat when he pulls back, but Brian is picking up one of the carrots he’s chopping and popping it into his mouth. He begins to tell him about his day. He thinks for a moment on how domestic this is, but doesn’t mention it. It’s been ten years, they’re strong and secure, but even some lines, he thinks, don’t need to be crossed.

He listens as Brian goes on about gaining an account, but losing someone in the art department, how Michael called to bitch about something. As he heads towards their bedroom, he picks up the beginning of how Gus has asked to come to visit them before the summer ends.

He knows Brian sees it, laying there on their bed, when the talking stops. Justin stops chopping vegetables and sucks in a breath, waiting. Listens to feet bare feet padding across hardwood floors until he doesn’t have to listen anymore. Because Brian is standing in front of him, scarf in hand, knowing eyebrow raised. “Sunshine, what the fuck is this?” he asks, though he knows.

“I found it while I was getting things ready to donate,” he explains calmly, as if it’s nothing. It’s not nothing. He continues, before Brian can talk, “I didn’t know you kept it. After that night I thought you threw it away” he tells him, and part of him wishes Brian had. The other part is glad it’s still here with them.

“Of course I kept it” Brians he says like it’s the obvious answer, his voice is low, and it’s raw, not unlike the emotions he knows are running through the man.

Justin takes the opportunity to walk around the island and into Brian’s personal space. He breathes in the familiar scent of mint shampoo and tobacco, relaxes him enough for him to say what he needs to say. “I didn’t get it at first, you know? Why you wanted to hold onto something so morbid. I thought it had to be some sort of guilt thing, and I guess it sort of was in the beginning, right?” but it’s not a question. He keeps going. “But then I took it off of you that night and I thought that was the end of it. Apparently not. Who knew Brian Kinney was so sentimental?” he adds with a laugh.

He notices Brians lip quirk at that and he latches onto it, smiles up at him “I know that there are parts of that night that I may not ever get back, parts that you remember all too vividly, so I get why you would keep it. Something to remind you that it was real,”

  
“Something to remind me that _you’re_ real” Brian interrupts, and if that didn’t already knock the breath out of Justin, “something to remind me that you’re alive” that confession, the brokenness of Brian’s voice, would have. He reaches out, needs to touch him, places his palm over his heart.

“I’m here. I’m here, I’m fine. _I’m alive._ ” he assures him and he wraps his arms around his middle, surrounds himself with Brian, and Brian with himself. He keeps his head against his chest, feels the soothing hand down his spine again. He looks up at him, moments later, “I think we should let this be the end of it now.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

They decide to burn it. Brian tells him that they shouldn’t let the fancy gas fireplace they had installed go to waste. So they burn it.

Brian throws it unceremoniously into the fire, and then fucks him on the floor while it sets ablaze. When he comes between them, hard, sticky and so so good, there’s nothing left but their memories of it.

Later the night, Brian holds him close as they sway together in the middle of the room, bathed in the moonlight and the glow of the fluorescents from a sign across the street, Brian singing softly in his ear.

_“…. So darlin’ save the last dance for me.”_

**Author's Note:**

> honestly y'all, I had a convo with someone on tumblr and then decided this needed to be written.  
> the title is from Amy Sharks Sink In which is my current song obsession.  
> also shout out to Becca for reading this before I published it and letting me know it's not as trash as I think it is.


End file.
